


Call It Quits

by essexmermaid



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Endeavour Morse Needs a Hug, Gen, Parental Fred Thursday, Protective Fred Thursday, ThursDAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25717123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexmermaid/pseuds/essexmermaid
Summary: Morse and Thursday finally talk. They’ve lost touch and now try to put things right between them.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse & Fred Thursday, Endeavour Morse/Joan Thursday
Comments: 36
Kudos: 29





	1. Joan

“Miss Thursday!” Morse exclaimed in surprise as he looked round. He had heard someone call his name, a familiar voice with a note of humour in it and had turned to see Joan grinning at him.

“Morse!” Joan laughed, pleased to see him, “I thought it was you.”

He ducked his head to smile self consciously at his feet.

“Long time no see,” she said. “How’ve you been? And I’m not Miss Thursday anymore, not since I got married,” she teased him.

“Oh, yes, sorry,” laughed Morse.

She leaned in familiarly to kiss him on the cheek then laughed again when Morse blushed. He could not help but laugh with her. It had been, what, two maybe more years since he’d last seen her but Joan Thursday-as-was still had the power to make him go weak at the knees.

Once they had meant so much to one another, in fact she’d meant the world to him. Despite the attraction between them, they’d never really got together romantically. In so many other ways they’d been thrown together, constantly meeting at the Thursdays’ house when Morse went to pick up her father in the mornings. Their relationship had taken a wrong turn somewhere and he had taken a long time to accept that whatever they had back then was over.

They stared at one another a little longer than was polite. Joan looked extremely well, marriage and motherhood clearly suited her. Those sparkling blue eyes still drew him to her and the grin on her face was a familiar mixture of fondness and teasing.

“You’re looking well,” he said sincerely. She knew him well enough to know he meant it because Morse was constitutionally incapable of making idle small talk.

“Thankyou,” she returned.

Honesty kept her from echoing the sentiment for Morse really looked a little shabby, his appearance not quite neglected but certainly not cared for. In the years that they hadn’t seen one another he had also aged considerably, looking his age now having lost that impossibly young air he had about him when she first knew him.

“And you, Morse, how are you?”

“Oh, alright. Busy. You know,” he replied. She knew she wasn’t going to get much more out of him and left it there.

They had so much to talk about, hadn’t seen one another literally for years, yet suddenly found they had nothing to say.

“I was just…”

“It’s lovely to…”

They both spoke at once and broke off laughing again.

They stood for a moment grinning at one another, feeling awkward to have bumped into one another so unexpectedly.

“Well!” she declared. How like her father she sounded to Morse who recognised the echo of DCI Thursday’s economy with words.

“How’s your family?” Morse tried again, meaning her father specifically.

“Oh mum’s fine. She’ll be sorry to have missed you. Dad’s not been so well, you know, after his operation last year. It knocked the stuffing out of him and he’s taken a while to get back on his feet. Sam was home on leave last month, my baby brother all grown up!”

Morse tried not to look blank at the mention of an operation. With a shock he realised he’d not spoken to DCI Thursday since the Inspector’s retirement from the police force two years ago and hadn’t known his former governor had been in hospital recently.

Morse shrugged noncommittally.

“Dad’s around here somewhere,” Joan explained. “He’d love to see you.”

Morse hesitated. It could be embarrassing to see the Old Man after all this time, particularly as Morse had made no effort to keep in touch. Last time he’d seen Thursday had been at the Inspector’s retirement party and even then Morse had sloped off early, citing work and police business as a reason to leave. He could not decide whether to slip away now and avoid any confrontation or to stay and face the consequences.

While he dithered, Joan grasped him by the elbow and slipped her arm through his as though none of that mattered. She literally took him in hand as if they were an old married couple and walked him off with great determination.

Morse did not resist. He quite enjoyed the unusual sensation of someone else taking decisions and making up his mind for him. It was a novel intervention in his all too lonely life.

As they walked together Morse shot Joan a sideways look. He was trying to reconcile the girl he once knew with this confident young woman. Joan had been often in his thoughts and he had a real regret that he’d not been able to keep her close.

Before Morse could gather himself to meet up with her father, Joan had steered him across to a bench where an old man sat laughing with a little boy.

With a shock Morse realised the old man was Fred Thursday, former Detective Chief Inspector, prematurely aged and looking tired. His thick hair was whiter now and without his trademark hat it made him seem more vulnerable. Thursday’s cheeks were less full, his frame lighter and he’d lost some of the dominating physical presence he used to have. Without his familiar bulk and air of masculine strength, Thursday no longer looked the strong, robust police inspector Morse remembered. It made his heart lurch with pity.

“Dad!” called Joan. “Look who I found!”

Thursday looked up and an unforced grin spread across his face. He was genuinely pleased to see Morse, once his protégé and for so long his colleague and friend.

“Morse!” he barked enthusiastically.

On seeing his mother the little boy shot across to Joan and wrapped himself around her legs.

Joan patted her son reassuringly and explained to Morse, “This is my oldest. Freddie, say hello to Uncle Morse.”

Freddie, having been reluctantly parted from his mother for a painful ten whole minutes, was having none of it and buried his face determinedly in her skirt.

By the time Joan had untangled herself from her son, Thursday had stepped over to greet Morse. It had not gone unnoticed to Morse that the older man had had trouble getting to his feet, his joints stiff with age and with sitting too long. Thursday had deliberately taken a moment to straighten up, pushing back his shoulders and rolling his chin to stretch his neck in his shirt collar, knowing himself to be under Morse’s keen eyed gaze.

“Well! You’re a sight for sore eyes! What’s it been, two years?” asked Thursday holding out his hand and knowing full well it was exactly that since he’d seen or heard from Morse.

It hadn’t been from want of trying on Thursday’s part. The invitations for Morse to come for dinner or meet for a pint had fallen on deaf ears after Thursday had retired. Some time ago he’d reluctantly resigned himself to having lost touch with his favourite bagman. Eventually Thursday had understood that Morse had moved on and wanted nothing more to do with his former life. Knowing Morse as well as he did, he didn’t take the rejection personally though it was hard not to. Instead he had let Morse go his own way and no longer sought him out.

“Something like that, Sir,” agreed Morse, shaking his hand and surprised at how firmly Thursday’s gripped his. There was considerable strength and steel in the Old Man yet, despite appearances.

“Fred, call me Fred,” insisted his former senior officer.

Morse smiled and nodded.

“So how are you?” asked Thursday even as he took a mental inventory of Morse’s jaded appearance and made up his own mind without Morse having to answer.

“Oh, I’m alright,” Morse said yet again. Thursday didn’t believe this often rehearsed reply.

“Stop it, Freddie, that’s enough now,” Joan’s exasperated voice broke through and they both turned to her and her little son.

“Dad, I’m going to have to take him to the park like I promised. Are you okay to meet us there later?”

“‘Course darling. You go on. I’ll catch up with you by the duck pond.” Thursday smiled and bent down indulgently to pat his grandson’s cheek.

“Maybe you and Morse could have some lunch together?” Joan proposed, “You’ve plenty to catch up on.” As she said this Joan stared pointedly at Morse behind her father’s back, willing him to fall in with her suggestion.

“Err, yes.” Morse agreed, for her sake. His heart sank a little at the prospect of explaining to Thursday why he had lost touch. It was not through any malice but just through reluctance to make the effort needed.

“I’ll see you in an hour then,” confirmed Joan. She shot a grateful smile and a nod at Morse.

Thursday ruffled the little boy’s hair fondly and having waved them off turned back to Morse.

“No need to spend time if you’ve things to do,” announced Thursday once his daughter was out of earshot. With a stab of regret, Morse saw that Thursday thought he was just being polite by agreeing to lunch. Clearly Thursday had taken all the signs from the previous two years to indicate that Morse wanted nothing to do with him any more.

Here was an opportunity to set things right between them. Both knew it yet Thursday had graciously offered him an excuse to leave if Morse had no interest in renewing their friendship. Morse was moved by Thursday’s consideration for him.

“Not at all,” stated Morse, making it clear he genuinely wanted to spend time with his former governor. “It would be good to catch up.”

Morse could see the relief on Thursday’s face and felt shamed that Thursday had doubted he would want to talk to him.

“One condition, though,” Morse said to lighten the mood. “We go to the pub for a pint?”

Thursday laughed with relief. “Done!” he declared.


	2. Reginald

“Joan looks well,” Morse said conversationally as Thursday ordered two pints of bitter.

“Yes, she’s loving being a mother and still managing to work part time,” said her proud father. “Don’t know how she does it all.”

They took their pints and found a quiet table in the pub where they could sit and talk.

“We have the kiddies three days a week now she’s back at work,” Thursday resumed. “Freddie’s coming up three and the baby’s nearly a year now. It’s tiring but my Win wouldn’t have it any other way. No sense in paying for a child minder, she says, when we can look after them ourselves.”

Thursday beamed in happy contemplation of his grandchildren.

It was clear that Thursday and his daughter were reconciled, that they had settled their differences and were very much united in whatever struggles Joan now faced. Family had always come first above all other considerations for Fred Thursday and he seemed very happy to have them close at hand. Morse was envious despite knowing the hard work and heartache that his family had cost Thursday over the years.

Morse suddenly wondered how he’d let Joan go all those years ago. Although, being honest with himself, she’d never really been his in the first place. They’d come so close to being something, to making a go of it together, but it had never happened. She’d been everything to him at one time. He’d even risked his life for her by staring down the barrel of a gun rather than have her hurt. And here they were again, their lives passing so closely that she took the wind from his sails, even after all these years.

“Her husband…?” Morse asked.

“They’ve split up recently. Trial separation she calls it,” Thursday admitted uncomfortably, not wanting to elaborate even to Morse.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Morse replied. He hadn’t meant to embarrass the Old Man like that but had obviously put his foot in it.

Thursday seemed resolutely supportive of Joan’s choice although Morse guessed he didn’t completely agree with her. He bit his tongue thinking it best not to say anything more on the subject.

Thursday looked at Morse shrewdly.

“You?” he asked.

“Me? No. No one special,” admitted Morse.

There was the faintest sigh from Thursday.

“Shame. I’d’ve thought you’d’ve settled down by now.”

Unwilling to be lectured on this old topic, Morse replied lightheartedly, “So you have told me, many times!”

Thursday smiled ruefully.

“Sorry, lad! None of my business I know.”

Morse shrugged. It was a disappointment to himself that he’d not found someone to settle down with by this stage in life. It was a sore point which he really didn’t want to discuss. Seeing Joan looking so happy had been a painful reminder of his own single state, forcing him to reflect on the choices he’d made and chances he’d missed.

Thursday turned the conversation to less personal topics.

“Reginald Bright would be pleased to hear from you …” offered Thursday.

“Mr. Bright?” exclaimed Morse.

Thursday nodded.

Morse shrugged.

“I never thought he had much time for me,” said Morse with a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“That’s where you’re wrong, lad. Not at first mebbe but once he got to understand you. Thinks very highly of you.”

Morse ducked his head to stare into his pint and huffed, a little embarrassed at Thursday being so unexpectedly candid. He was so used to the Old Man being stoic and stern that he found it hard to reconcile the hard man he knew with this softer, kinder version. But then, Thursday had always been kind to him, offering his years of experience to guide Morse as a young Constable, taking him under his wing and protecting him as his bagman, opening his front door to welcome Morse into his family.

Thursday had always been the one to offer the hand of friendship but it was Morse who had shied away from the affection. They could have been closer if only Morse could have accepted Thursday’s generosity with good grace. But he wasn’t wired that way, he knew. Whenever someone got too close, Morse always ended up pushing them away to prove to himself he was capable of standing on his own two feet. It was the same with all his colleagues and with his girlfriends. He kept them at arms’ length so that he would never have to feel too dependent on anyone.

“You keep in touch then?” Morse asked, to fill the awkward silence.

“With Reginald? Yes, see him every so often. He comes to ours for dinner or we meet at his club.”

“Say ‘Hello’ for me,” Morse suggested, both of them knowing from his comment that he had no intention of making the effort to do so himself.

“He follows your cases in the papers. Proud of you.” Thursday slid him a shy glance. “We both are.”

It gave Morse a warm feeling to realise he had not just one but two proud father figures. Thursday had taken a shine to Morse from the start, made him his bagman despite Morse’s lack of seniority and tried to guide him through his early years. If ever a young man needed a father figure to look up to, it was Morse.

But Morse had eventually outgrown Thursday and, unwilling to compromise on his own high standards, had chosen to break away from the old copper’s rougher methods. Ever the idealist, Morse could not have foreseen the enormous difficulties he would have to face alone when he stepped out from the Old Man’s shadow.

After he had requested a transfer away from working with DCI Thursday Morse had deliberately broken the ties between them. He’d outgrown the relationship which had started to chafe on both of them. Turning his back on Thursday had been hard but he couldn’t have stayed without their relationship turning even more sour. After that he’d given up hoping that anyone could ever again look out for him the way Thursday had and had not dared hope that Thursday himself would still care for him as he once had done.

“Thankyou, Fred,” Morse said without meeting Thursday’s gaze, a half smile flitting across his face.

Reading his friend’s shy smile as permission to press on, Thursday took this rare chance to tell Morse how proud he was of him.

“You’re set to become a Detective Chief Inspector one of these days, aren’t you?” smiled Thursday.

“Not sure about that,” Morse shrugged modestly.

“You’ll get there, soon enough, lad,” Thursday reassured him. “Inspector Morse! Just like your ‘Old Man’”.

With a jolt of surprise, Morse understood that Thursday meant himself, the ‘Old Man’ as they’d fondly referred to him at the station, not Morse’s own father. In fact Thursday had been more of a father to him than anyone, guiding and protecting him where he could, and picking him up from his falls when he couldn’t.

Morse looked up and grinned at Thursday, grateful for his kind words.

It was hard for Morse to accept praise, even where it was long overdue, and there weren’t many who offered it. He felt both comforted by Thursday’s loyal affection and unsettled that he had lost touch with the Old Man.

Deliberately changing the subject, Morse asked, “And you, what about you? How’s that chest of yours?”

Graciously Thursday followed his lead, steering away from any display of too much emotion.

“Oh, alright. You know.” Thursday tapped his chest with two fingertips. “Bullet in the chest does you the world of no good,” he added facetiously.

Morse smiled and shook his head at the attempt at levity, knowing how badly Thursday’s health had been affected when he got shot. He still felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to prevent the shooting. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he involuntarily recalled kneeling at Thursday’s side, trying to stop the blood pumping from the bullet wound, clutching at the man, calling to him in desperation.

_Stay with me, Sir! Stay with me!_

He hadn’t stayed with him though, had he? They had been wrenched apart to Morse’s deepest regret. Thursday had been in a coma in hospital for weeks, finally emerging physically and mentally reduced and having nearly lost his life. Morse had been slung into prison on false charges, and subsequently hidden away in the cabin in the woods having nearly lost his mind.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more,...” Morse tailed off. He still bore the guilt of not protecting Thursday, of not preventing the ambush, of being unable to put things right again.

Thursday shook his head.

“You were there, lad. I’ve not forgotten.”

There were no words. He reached out and laid a warm hand on Morse’s, patting it twice before returning to his pint.

Morse softened under Thursday’s steady gaze and nodded.

“Joan said something about an operation…”

“Exploratory was all. Nothing to worry about.” Thursday deliberately shut down the conversation, not wanting Morse’s pity.

They sat in silence for a while, neither of them wanting to reopen old wounds.


	3. Jim

“Jim keeps me up to date with some of the latest from the station,” Thursday offered, hoping for neutral ground.

“Jim Strange?” said Morse. “Yes, he said he’d seen you.”

Jim had mentioned meeting Thursday several times over the years now that Morse came to think of it, although Morse had never asked him about the Thursdays or followed up the conversation with him. They had seemed impossibly remote from the daily working life that consumed his whole attention and Morse had relegated them to a fond memory from a time long ago. It had not registered with him until now that Jim Strange had been in regular touch with the Old Man after Thursday had retired from the police force.

“Yes, he’s a good man, Strange,” added Thursday. Morse felt a twinge of jealousy. He wondered what Thursday would say of him. Did he rate Morse a good man like Strange?

“Mmmm,” responded Morse.

“We see Jim every couple of months or so. Comes to ours for dinner with Joan and the kiddies.”

When Morse looked at him in surprise, Thursday reminded him, “Jim’s godfather to Joan’s oldest.”

Morse was shocked at this. He knew of course that Jim and Joan were close friends and he vaguely remembered Jim telling him about the christening which Morse had been invited to but didn’t go to due to work commitments. What shocked him most of all was that he knew all this but had managed to forget or ignore or simply not register Jim’s closeness to the Thursdays. Suddenly Morse felt like he was on the outside looking in.

Morse tipped his head back, frowning at the ceiling.

“I’ve not been very good at keeping in touch, have I?”

“No, lad. But that’s only to be expected, busy man like you,” Thursday’s blunt honesty was refreshing.

“I always seem to be too busy,” he offered lamely. “I’m sorry. I should have made more of an effort.”

“Now, now, Morse, no need to apologise. Just how things go.”

Morse nodded gratefully at his friend’s generosity.

“Well! You know where we are. We’d be glad of your company. Anytime, Morse. I mean it. You can call on us anytime.”

There was no sense of being made to feel guilty, no blame intended. It was a generous offer from a true friend and meant kindly.

With a sinking heart Morse understood now that Thursday had chosen not to reach out to him any longer. The specific invites for a meal, a family get together or an anniversary party had tailed off months ago. Morse’s continual failure to attend, or sometimes even to respond, must have hurt the older man terribly. Now it was a standing invitation to show up whenever it suited Morse rather than hold him to any particular time or place.

They both knew it was highly unlikely he would take up the invitation and yet Thursday continued to offer it.

Strangely, Morse felt relieved. They understood one another. There was no pressure on him to have to make an effort. Morse had not been much of a friend to his former governor since Thursday had retired but the Old Man hadn’t taken offence. Thursday understood him better than anyone and knew Morse was too driven at work to make much time for domestic arrangements. It comforted Morse to know that Thursday still cared for him enough to accept that was just how things were between them.

“That’s very kind, Fred.”

Morse gulped down the rest of his pint and tipped his glass at Thursday to offer another. The big man accepted with a tilt of his head. No words were spoken, none needed between these two old friends.


	4. Fred

Thursday had mellowed in many respects after his retirement. With the almost unbearable stress of the job no longer his responsibility, Thursday had had a chance to relax and take stock of his life. He took a long hard look at himself and the people who were important to him. Family, of course, came first. He had always loved his wife and now he had the time to show her his appreciation in so many small ways. And Win’s happiness depended so much on that of their children that Thursday tried hard to support Joan.

Friends still counted and Thursday was initially hurt by Morse’s stony silence. Over time he became both understanding and forgiving of the young man he’d held at one time amongst his nearest and dearest. Thursday had regretted the parting of their ways. He still considered him to be ‘his lad’ and took as much pleasure in Morse’s achievements as any proud father would have done. He often thought of Morse and followed his exploits from afar through newspaper reports and gossip from mutual friends.

Here now was the opportunity he’d been hoping for to say his piece to Morse.

With a second pint in front of him, Thursday gathered his thoughts.

“I never got the chance to thank you,” said Thursday quietly. “What you did for Joan.”

Morse raised his eyebrows. Thursday watched his face intently.

“She told me you were there at the hospital. You never said.” Thursday continued.

“It wasn’t my place to say,” Morse said defensively.

“She told me you were there for her. I wasn’t. I just wanted to say ‘Thankyou’, is all.”

Morse had not expected this heartfelt thanks. Admittedly he’d tracked down Joan when she ran away from home, she’d come to him when her married lover had beaten her and she’d run to Morse when she’d needed some money to leave and a shoulder to cry on. Morse had, all these years, tucked Joan’s story deep within himself, not to be spoken of or shared with anyone. And here was Fred Thursday, his former governor and Joan’s own father, knowing all about that truly terrible time when to this day Morse thought it known only to himself and Joan.

“I’m glad she told you,” Morse said. “I hadn’t planned to keep it a secret from you. It just wasn’t my story to tell.”

Thursday nodded his understanding.

How painful it must have been, Morse reflected, for this proud man and doting father to have heard from his own daughter the awful tale of Joan’s miscarriage and breakup with her married lover that had landed her in hospital. She’d kept it a secret from everyone except Morse, and even he was not meant to have found out but when he got the call from the hospital he had dropped everything to be by her side when she needed him.

Her father had tried to persuade her to come home before things for her had got that bad but she had wanted none of his interference. Thursday appeared resigned now to step back and look on as his darling daughter built her own life and made her own mistakes. He admired Thursday for admitting that he had been wrong where Joan had been concerned and had now given in to her wishes.

They sat and sipped their beer in silence for several minutes.

“That’s why you didn’t make it to the Palace, isn’t it?” Thursday said.

“Mmmm,” agreed Morse.

Morse had gone to the hospital to be at Joan’s side and missed his investiture at Buckingham Palace to receive the George Medal, the highest award for bravery bestowed on civilians. Thursday too had been awarded the George Medal and had taken Win, bursting with pride, with him to the Palace and they’d had a day in London to celebrate. In contrast Morse had picked up his medal off his desk in an empty office late at night, no one there to even notice.

Thursday sighed with regret.

“I asked you to be good to her,” Fred said. “And you were. I thought you were courting. Didn’t realise you’d missed out for her sake.”

“We weren’t. Courting I mean. We came close but somehow…” Morse tailed off, starting to feel sorry for himself again.

“I wouldn’t have minded. You as a son-in-law,” offered Fred. “I wouldn’t have minded one bit.”

Morse smiled shyly, proud and humbled by Thursday’s genuine affection. He could hardly bear to hear this now after all this time, from the man he’d once worshipped.

“Wasn’t only my choice, though, was it?” he quipped. “Joan made up her own mind.”

Thursday raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. It was clear he didn’t agree but he wasn’t going to criticise his daughter nor for that matter did he want to upset Morse. He’d had his say, though long overdue, and told his lad what he’d thought of him. Morse was very dear to him and he wanted the lad to know that.

Here then was something they could both agree on. They both thought the world of Joan. It was a relief to share their thoughts at last after years of keeping or not knowing her secrets.


	5. Morse

Morse wanted desperately to know what had happened to Thursday that summer to make him fall in with the corrupt coppers at the station. They had grown so far apart back then that they hardly spoke for months and when they were thrown together again on a case, Morse was shocked at how far the Old Man had wandered off the right path.

“That summer,” he started. “What happened to you? With Box?”

Thursday shifted uncomfortably in his seat. For a long minute Morse thought he wouldn’t answer.

“I lost my way. I took…” Thursday couldn’t bring himself to admit to taking a bribe, “…a wrong turn.”

“I knew they’d got to you. I wasn’t sure if you’d turn up at the quarry.”

Thursday bristled at the painful reminder that he’d let Morse down. He had been caught up in a web of corruption and he was certain that Morse somehow knew more than he let on. Maybe the lad didn’t know all the details, but he knew enough to have been disillusioned and disgusted with him at the time. When Morse had needed Thursday’s guidance and support he hadn’t been there for him.

“I’m sorry, lad,” said Thursday, making a tremendous effort to admit his failing and to apologise. “I should have been there for you and I wasn’t.”

Morse shrugged. He wanted to say it was alright, but it wasn’t, not even after all this time. It still hurt to know he’d lost his mentor, his guiding light, in that long, dangerous summer.

“You were there when it counted.” Morse allowed.

Thursday had stood with him at the final showdown shoulder to shoulder with Jim Strange and Mr. Bright. They’d been shot at and survived but it wasn’t the same after that. Something between them had shifted and strained and finally their bond had broken. They both knew it and regretted it.

“If you must know, they told me it was you or me. I fall in with what they wanted or they’d take it out on you.”

Morse looked at him, shocked that he had proved to be Thursday’s weak point.

“So you stood by me knowing it might cost you your life?” he asked.

“You’d saved mine before then. At Blenheim Vale. And my Joan’s.” Fred explained.

“And then you saved mine in Venice,” Morse countered. “We seem to have evened the score,” he added wryly.

Fred looked hard at Morse who refused to meet his eye. He understood Morse was still angry with him and that it was his own failings which had driven Morse away.

“Call it quits then?” Thursday suggested hopefully.

Morse frowned into his pint, wondering if this was enough to soothe the resentment that still lingered after that horrible summer in uniform and humiliation at the hands of those oafs Box and Jago. Morse had at that time felt utterly abandoned seeing how Thursday had stood back and let it happen. His own governor could not be relied on to shelter and encourage him. Worse, he had seen Thursday dragged down by corrupt coppers, too far in with the wrong crowd to do the right thing.

Thursday watched patiently as that familiar look came across Morse’s face, a half dazed expression in his eyes and a complete lack of self consciousness that made him look so young and vulnerable. He had always enjoyed watching Morse think things through, puzzling out a problem that most of them couldn’t even begin to understand. The lad’s face was so expressive, seeing those pretty eyes widen and a crease form between his brows. Thursday smiled despite himself, although he knew that Morse was weighing in the balance whether or not to renew their friendship.

Morse looked up to find Fred watching him closely. He gave Fred a surprisingly sweet smile then looked away.

In that moment Fred had glimpsed once again the shy, unloved boy he first met, still there behind the brave front Morse put up. Fred’s heart skipped a beat with anxiety. He still felt a father’s protective instinct towards this young man who not only deserved his care and affection but had earned it.

Morse held out his hand.

“Quits then,” he said.

Gladly Thursday shook it, holding on a little longer than he needed to. This was the best they could manage, an overdue apology and a reluctant acceptance. It was a reconciliation of sorts or at least an acceptance that the past was over and done with. They would never be as close as they had been back then. Nevertheless they had a past together that no one else shared and finally they could let it rest.


	6. Quits

They walked side by side through Oxford just like the old days and Morse felt no need to say anything more. He was content to have spent time with his friend and relieved they had opened their hearts to one another at last. There was a lot to think over and he would do that later, listening to a favourite opera while sipping a good scotch.

As they approached the duck pond, Freddie spotted his grandad and hurtled across the grass to him. He launched himself into Fred’s arms with a delighted shriek. Risking his tired back, Thursday caught the little lad and swung him high, laughing back at him. Morse caught Joan’s eye and they both laughed at Fred and his namesake who were obviously the best of pals.

“Thanks for keeping Dad company,” she said, catching hold of her little boy as her dad put him down.

“Not at all,” Morse replied. “My pleasure.” He meant it.

Joan pecked Morse on the cheek.

“Bye Morse. Don’t be a stranger!” she grinned.

Thursday clapped him on the arm affectionately.

“Call round, lad. I know you’re busy, work and all that. Be glad of your company anytime,” he reiterated.

Morse could hear the note of doubt in Thursday’s voice, thinking he would never call.

In answer Morse held out his hand. Thursday hesitated to shake it.

“Handshakes are for goodbye, Morse,” Fred objected.

Morse grinned, tilting his head a little, replaying the joke between them.

“Quits then!” he smiled.

Thursday understood that Morse rather uncharacteristically was teasing him so he played along. He grasped Morse’s hand and shook it heartily. They grinned at one another. There was nothing more to say.

“Well,” said Thursday letting go Morse’s hand at last, “is that the time?”

He looked around at his family and with a final nod at Morse he ushered them away.

Morse watched them go. Thursday had scooped up little Freddie in a strong embrace and they were laughing delightedly at one another. He saw Joan slip her hand through her father’s arm and lean into him. The Thursday family had drawn together, finding great happiness in being with one another.

Meeting the Thursdays again like this, it was a real comfort to him to know they understood him and yet they still loved him despite his awkward ways.

Now that he and Fred had talked through some of the things that had got in the way of their friendship, their misunderstandings, over Joan, shootings, corruption and trust, had been smoothed over. It was as if the Old Man had given him permission to move on with his life rather than worrying about the past. Who knew when they would meet again?

Morse felt very much alone at that moment. He knew full well that he’d made his choices and chosen work above all personal considerations. Moving on from the Thursdays was just one of the consequences of that.

Morse turned around. He jammed his hands in his pockets and walked away, once more alone.

**Author's Note:**

> At the end of Season 7 I was even more anxious about possible reasons that DCI Fred Thursday does not appear in Inspector Morse. Before Season 8 is released I wanted to second guess why Morse never mentions Thursday later in his life. 
> 
> Here’s my version of events but you might have different ideas ....
> 
> Why do you think Inspector Morse never mentions Fred Thursday?
> 
> I’d love to hear from you, please leave comments?


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